My recollection
by KHwhitelion
Summary: Set during season 5. Waking up with broken bones and jumbled memories, you're bound to have more than a few questions. JDA. Character death.


**So I haven't written Scrubs fanfiction in years. Rewatching the show recently reminded me of my writing experience in this fandom, and I thought it might be fun to try again.  
>I'm not sure if I'll continue this. I have an idea of where to go with it, but time is always an issue, these days…<strong>

**NOTE: this fic involves loose references to sexual themes. However, there is NO explicit content whatsoever.**

* * *

><p>There's nothing better than waking up after a long night. After pushing yourself through a twelve hour shift (or 'hell' as a select few individuals call it) it's easy to lose perspective. The tiniest thing can set a person off; be it an external factor or your own insecurities come up to bite you. I've been here long enough now, I'm usually able to balance it, but every so often, you'll feel that cruel push off the tip of the ice berg.<p>

I smile to myself a little burrowing deeper in the blanket nest around me. _I'd need a killer sled… _and something to break impact with the ocean. I wonder if toboggans float…

Abruptly, the fantasy cuts short, a sharp pain lancing up and down my fingers. As much as I hate to give in, my eyes open, blinking sleepily at the cast poking out from beneath my comforter. Perplexed, I carefully adjust myself, now on my side, uninjured arm keeping me upright. It lasts all of five seconds before the chilly air that is December draws me back under the sheets.

_Let's try that again. _

My arm slides out alone, this time, bare skin goosing where the plaster ends above my elbow. _That explains the pain. _Some of it, anyway. The more awake I grow the more aware I'm becoming of an unpleasant throb behind my eyes. Another blink, this time deliberate, trying to piece together what I did last night. I'm assuming this is from last night. To be perfectly honest, the last few days feel like a blur, right now. _That's probably because you just got up. _Probably.

Still, it's frustrating when you can't fill in the blanks, and eventually, frustration wins out… well, that and the urge to pee, but I'm stubborn and the air is cold. Although it shouldn't be that bad, I bought long-sleeved jammies just for this occasion.

…which begs the question of why my arm is bare. _You're wearing a cast, what do you think? _

Good point. I might still be working off a daze, but the JD from last night must have been thinking more clearly. We keep tee-shirts on hand for a reason… although a robe would have been a smarter choice, but my roommate's booty call seems to think it's his, so I'm forced to go without. (And no, I'm not asking for it back, I can't stand the guy at work, no way am I talking to him, here.)

It's right then my bladder reminds me why I caved to aggravation. We're still a long way off from a sleep-and-flush world… _although that might present problems for us menfolk. I should talk to Turk about the technicalities—you're drifting again, stop it. _Right, right. Bathroom first, fantasize later.

_One, two, three…_

I hold my breath as I sit up, bracing for the cold. It comes up harsh as the sheets slide down my belly. Harsher than I expect, at first, until I realize I'm not actually wearing a shirt. I realize further this extends to my lower half as well; just before I stumble out, I grab the top-most blanket, wrapping it around my waist. There's no real reason to, but waking up alone and naked rarely means anything good.

After finishing my business, I return, substituting my previous covering with a towel; the blanket tucked under my arm. I say tucked because folding is a challenge when you've only one hand free. Turns out I think I broke something. Or fractured... I'm still not sure. Either way, it's cumbersome. And painful, although I think I mentioned that. _I should ask Perry when I get to work. _Or maybe call for an examination. Walking to and from the bathroom, I've discovered I'm sore all over. Different than my hand and headache (less intense, what feels like muscle stiffness) but concerning nonetheless. _Was I hit by a car last night? Pranked too intensely by the Janitor? _Maybe I walked into something, it happens more days than not…

I pause, double-backing to the bathroom. If I hit the ground in any way, there should be some physical evidence. A bruise, scrapes, hell, I'd put my money on stitches, the way my memory's been, this morning.

What I see is not what I expect. In any way, shape or form.

There is a bruise, I was right to that degree… but only one, between my neck and shoulder blade. My cheeks begin to burn, and for a moment, a wild excitement fills me. _Did I bring a girl home last night? _That would explain the nakedness. And the stiffness. And the... headache, if I met her at the bar. Hell, maybe that's where my memory went. It doesn't take much to get me drunk.

The solitude concerns me, though. I haven't had a girlfriend recently; if this girl isn't still in bed (and she's not, I can see as I head back in) chances are she isn't waiting for me in the kitchen. _Swing and a miss, eh, Dorian? _ Maybe the cast was a turn off…

A slight sigh drops from my lips, tossing my blanket onto the bed. I'll ask Elliot to help fold it, later. She wouldn't turn down a friend in need. At least, I don't think she would. There are days I doubt she can see anything over the six-foot-something man candy attached to her … heel, at work, but I wouldn't put it past them to hook up in a supply closet.

I grimace, pushing away the thought. It's bad enough I see the evidence at home; I don't need to picture hot and heavy hospital action.

Right about then, the scent of flapjacks fill my nostrils. I smile, hope renewed. Maybe the girl I slept with stayed after all. I don't think anyone else is here… I hope not, anyway. I could use an easy morning. Shrugging on a pair of sweats and tee-shirt, I push open the door, searching for my lady. _Please let her be tall, dark and gorgeous. _And willing to do it, sober, but we'll cross that bridge, later. I'm on call later in the day, but this hand-thing still concerns me…

"Morning, Doctor Dorian."

I froze.

That was no woman's voice.

Venturing further into the kitchen, I discovered the source was no woman, either. Which both explained the tone and how they knew my name. I've used the doctor thing before on girls but they always forget, the morning after.

I would've taken it over the sight before me, now.

"Good morning, Keith." Wouldn't be Elliot if she didn't leave her things lying around… in nothing but a pair of sweats as well, dammit, he always does this. _We can't all be chiseled out of marble, stop making me look bad. _

I took a seat at the table, scrutinizing, still. If it weren't for the pancakes he so carefully flipped, he'd have heard a piece of my mind. That, and I couldn't help wondering if he'd seen my mystery woman leave, this morning.

"Say, Keith." I said, turning slightly in my chair—_ow_, that hurts: note to self, stretch after breakfast— "Did a pretty lass happen to walk through here, earlier? Perhaps looking thoroughly satisfied?" I would have critiqued my use of purple prose if Keith hadn't done the unexpected thing and _blushed. _

"Uh… no. Nobody came through."

I quirked a brow, cheekiness curling the corners of my mouth. "Come on, I know you're pulling my leg. If you tell me where she went, I'll see if she has an available friend." Instead of the smile I hoped to evoke from Mister Perfect (or the quivering resolve Elliot told him to believe in) I earned only a harsh tone, and a downwards gaze.

"There was nobody here. It's just… us, okay?"

Keith went quiet after that, though I continued to study him. If I didn't know better, I'd say he looked hurt. Huh… _I wonder if Elliot dumped him. _Of course, they'd have had to been dating for that to occur, but he wouldn't put it past Keith to misinterpret something (see? He isn't perfect.)

…As much as I enjoy private gloating, my morning circumstances tugged at my mind, again. As it did so, apprehension coiled around my belly. Ruling out this mystery girl for a second (she still could have left late last night) I began a mental diagnosis, trying to put together my condition. Unfortunately, that's hard to do with pieces missing. _Maybe Turk knows…_as I debated retrieving my phone, Keith came over, setting a plate down in front of me. Two pancakes with a square of butter and syrup. Just like you see on TV. Surprise stopped short, annoyance peeking through again—isn't there _anything_ wrong with this man?

He spoke before I had the chance to ask.

"Do you … need help?" He held out a fork, looking from me to my breakfast. "Elliot said you should take it easy for a while."

"Elliot said" I retorted, tempted to roll my eyes. "Elliot can say whatever she wants, Keith. I think I know myself better than she does." I wish I could say I swiped the utensils from him. Sadly, strength has never been my forte, so I played my specialty: stare until he's so uncomfortable he has to hand them over.

Surprisingly, it worked. Thank you, diagnosing skills. "And thank you." I finished aloud, far less sincere than the nod I'd given my gifts. No one wants him here, and Elliot doesn't count because sexual needs are not the same as civil toleration. If she weren't boinking him on a nightly basis, he'd see a lot less of her friendly—"Ow!"

Fork and knife clatter against the glass plate, latter utensil toppling onto the table below. Syrup pools around its blade; it's a small concern to the needles jabbing through my hand.

"Are you alright, JD?"

"No, Keith, I'm not." I snapped, cradling my hand as best I could. Dammit _dammit, _"What happened last night?"

That earns a pause from tall, blond, and oddly reserved, this morning. He takes the end seat, next to mine, treating my frustration like I'd addressed him, personally.

"You don't remember?"

"No, that would be why I'm asking."

Keith stiffens, then, his jaw muscles clenching. I probably shouldn't have barked at him; however great my disdain, he did make flapjacks. In fairness, how else should I react, waking up as I did?

".. you came to work, drunk, yesterday." Confessed the other man, at last. It didn't sound like a confession, though… if anything, he seemed concerned. "Broke a bathroom mirror—we had to put you on an IV drip to dilute your system." He paused, then, tension thick in the air. I swallowed, waiting and wishing I weren't. _That's not me, that can't be me…_

"…you got in a fight with Doctor Cox over going home." Keith continued, the weight in his words piling onto my building shock. "He finally let you, under supervision, but…"

But what? _What else did I do?_

"I was the only one off, so they sent me with you..." He trails off here, though I can't be sure why. Doesn't matter, honestly; my head's reeling and something in my chest is far too tight. _I can't believe I did that, what do they think of me now, oh Doctor Cox must be so ashamed-_

"..are you sure you don't remember anything?" Starts Keith again, abruptly, so much so I nearly miss it. Trying to keep myself composed, I shake my head. It's a partial truth at best; as it runs around my mind, flashes here and there begin surfaces. Glimmers of words, faces… nothing concrete enough to answer with a nod.

The other man's elbows slide forward, rubbing the back of his head. "Oh boy… uh…shit." He looked up at me, conflict stapled to his face. "Doctor Dorian, you…"

I what? Oh, no, no I'm fired, aren't I? Five years down the drain, dammit DAMMIT.

"…you made a pass at me."

…what?

"… what..?" I blinked, still riding an anxiety attack. "Are you.." _breathe, Dorian. _"… are you saying I hit on you?" On _Keith? _(On a guy?)

Keith cringed. "Not exactly. You were…still pretty wrecked by the whole thing. I um.." he looked away, then back. "I thought I heard you crying, so I-I came over, and uh-"

"For the love of everything, Keith, _what happened?"_

As a doctor, it's pretty easy to recognize the signs of a panic attack. Caught in my own, I failed to notice his.

"I swear I thought you'd remember, JD. I asked you if you hated me and you said you needed someone and – and you kissed me first!"

_WHAT? _

"Keith, there's.. there's no way that happened, I'm not…" No. Nononononono NO.

"You're not, huh?" Replied _Elliot's_ booty call (hers, she's attracted to him, not me, she needs him, not me, I couldn't have kissed him, I _don't_ like him!) Hurt, unmistakable this time, seeped into his face. "Because you're the one who initiated, last night."

"But I—"

"I knew you weren't alright." Keith hurried on. "But you said—you insisted you were fine, and I—SHIT!" Head ducked again, clutching at his hair. I couldn't be sure (and I wasn't really listening_dammitdammitDAMMIT_too many things were starting to make sense) but I thought I heard him mutter "I thought we connected." I'm not sure, I couldn't hear over my heart thudding frantically in my ears. It was either that or something about trying to help, either way it didn't matter, something happened between us and given my unusual situation this morning, the pancakes, his lacking a top with Elliot nowhere present I've got a pretty clear idea what did.

"I—" I rasped, throat tight, blood roaring, "I need to—go—" Clambering to my feet, I raced back to my room, condemning my twinging muscles in a frantic search for my phone. Finding it, my shoes and wallet, I spun back around, yelping as my encased appendage knocked against the doorframe.

"Doctor Dorian—" Comes Keith's desperate voice, behind me. I can't bother with it now. "You're not supposed to —"

"I'm not supposed be a lot of things, Keith!" I bark back, pulling open the door. I'm not supposed to show up, drunk, I'm not supposed to break hospital property, I'm certainly not supposed to bicker my stability back and forth with my mentor and _I am not interested in Keith!_

He recoils, then, in the second I glance over my shoulder. "JD, it wasn't my fault…"

One foot in the hallway, now, I let my eyes trail back to him. He looks like he's going to cry. _I feel the same. _"You're the one who remembers it, Keith. That speaks for itself." Spinning back around, I shut myself out before hearing his answer. I don't care who started it, I don't care who continued it, it's happened and I…

… I have no idea what to do, now.


End file.
